


Say you were made to be mine

by Nanimok



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Possessive Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Revolutionary Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Violent Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-21 07:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19998538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: “Connor,” Markus greets, his voice warm and pleased.Connor freezes.There’s Josh in the kitchen, forcing a smile even though he looks distressed. There’s Simon standing beside Josh, face blank as always, and there’s North——North, standing behind Hank, her hand on Hank’s shoulder. Keeping him sitting, keeping him still.Keeping him obedient.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the amazing [ Zalein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zalein) for all the brainstorming, ideas, and being a general awesome person to bounce ideas off!!! Please give Zalein all the love!!
> 
> Pathways:  
> \- Connor spills Hank's drink. Hank shoots Connor.  
> \- Revolutionary Markus (Josh alive is my own retcon)  
> \- Deviant Connor
> 
> UPDATE: I have beautiful, beautiful fanart thanks to [ Magickitt](https://twitter.com/megickitt) from the RK1K discord!! Please retweet and give Magickitt all the love!!

They’re doing well, Connor thinks, for a duo of dysfunctional beings and their beloved dog. 

A recovering, beat-up alcoholic, his android pseudo-son, and their Saint Bernard, the only happy thing between the three of them. Connor still struggles with his emotions—he still struggles with leaving Detroit behind—and guilt has even stopped Hank from drinking as heavily as he used to. They pretend as if Hank didn’t shoot Connor dead on a bridge. They pretend as if Connor didn't leave him for the revolution. 

Between the three of them, they even seem like a family. 

There’s a security that comes with anonymity—they've deluded themselves into thinking they were blissfully safe in their ignorance—and their security ends the moment Markus opens the door for Connor as he’s coming home from his librarian job. 

“Connor,” Markus greets, his voice warm and pleased. 

Connor freezes. 

There’s Josh in the kitchen, forcing a smile even though he looks distressed. There’s Simon standing beside Josh, face blank as always, and there’s North—

—North, standing behind Hank, her hand on Hank’s shoulder. Keeping him sitting, keeping him still.

Keeping him obedient.

Markus steps aside. “Please come in.”

Connor steps through and Hank shoots up from his seat. “Connor—”

North pushes him back into his chair. “Don’t move,” she hisses. “They’re talking."

Hank looks like he's about to protest, but Markus places his hand on Connor’s shoulder, bringing his attention back to him. “Why don’t you show me your room, Connor?” Markus says, rubbing his thumb in small circles. “We can have our conversation there."

His thumb is very distracting. Connor nods and makes no move to shake off his hand.

Hank’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing. 

His eyes burn their backs as Connor leads Markus down their hallway and into his room. His cosy single bed room sprinkled with hints of blue and green on his in furniture.

Markus surveys plants lining the windowsill. “You’re still collecting succulents?”

Connor considers his words carefully. Markus is the kind of man who can pick apart the simplest sentences. That's something safe to opt for—simplicity.

“I like plants," he says.

“You do,” Markus says, nodding. “I’m glad it still makes you happy.”

Connor thins his lips. Then, “Why are you here, Markus?”

Picking up a pot plant, and surveying its weight, Markus shrugs. “You ran away.”

"I almost killed you," Connor confesses.

“I know.”

“Not on the ship, after it. After we...” Connor’s cheeks turns a light shade of blue, but he soldiers on. “While we were in stasis, Cyberlife took control of my body, and I almost shot you then. I was designed to be deviant, Markus. I was a sleeper agent. I thought I was free, but I wasn’t, and I’m sorry. I would have never gone to you if I had known—”

“Connor,” Markus interrupts softly. “I know.”

He says it like it's an inconsequential fact, when the fact has been churning and chipping away inside Connor from the moment he slammed his hand on the exit button in his programming. 

It completely stops Connor. “You knew?”

“I was awake,” Markus says, turning towards him, seemingly satisfied with playing around Connor’s room. “I only pretended to be in stasis."

“Then... I’m confused,” Connor says, and this time, his voice is very small. “Why haven’t you killed me?"

A soft looks passes over his face. “Oh, Connor,” Markus says. “The worst of the revolution is over now. We’re allowed a breather here and there.” 

“But I almost killed you.”

Markus steps forward toward him. "You didn't."

Connor steps back. The back of his knee hits the bed. Connor is the deviant hunter, yet right now, he feels like he's the one being hunted. 

With nowhere else to go, Markus corners him, his body a breath's away from Connor. He places both of his hands on Connor's waist, savouring the warmth seeping through his shirt, before running them up his chest and onto his shoulders. 

"I can kill you," Connor tries weakly.

He resists the urge of pushing back into Markus's hands. 

"But you wouldn't." Markus pushes Connor down by the shoulders until he sits on the bed. "You won't," he corrects himself, running the back of his fingers up and down Connor's neck. 

It's a hold over him; a shudder not even Amanda could conjure. An intrinsic understanding and bone-deep _want_ washing over him. Markus is his equal in every way; his superior in so many more. When Connor stands beside him, he feels like he’s _worthy—_ that he _earned_ his right to Markus's attention.

Markus tips Connor's head up. He brushes his thumb over the bump on Connor's throat. He presses it ever so slightly—hard enough for the touch to make itself known, soft enough to betray his affection and longing. 

Connor's breathing stutters.

Markus's eyes are half-lidded, and he's considering Connor with the same kind of possessiveness Connor recognised from the moment Connor broke the red wall.

His thumb travels up, lingering along his jaw, catching on Connor's bottom lip. 

"You've always known," Connor repeats, more for himself than for Markus, replaying the memory in his head. "We must have been still interfacing when Cyberlife took over me." 

Markus had his arms wrapped around him when they drifted off into stasis. His skin was peeled back to his elbows, which was pressed to Connor's abdomen. Connor must have peeled the skin of his abdomen back, desperate he was for warmth in the blizzard.

Markus gives a reaffirming hum. “I was,” he says, kneeling on one knee, hands untucking the bottom of his shirt, running over Connor leisurely, leaving a trail of fire in his wake wherever he touches.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Connor asks quietly. 

“I would have, the moment it went too far,” Markus says, unbuttoning the collar of Connor’s shirt with care. “But I wanted to see what you would do.” His hands travel down, undoing the buttons all the way to Connor’s thirium pump. “I wanted to see if you’d let me live; even after knowing that I would have killed you for the attempt.”

“I did.”

“You did,” Markus agrees, although he isn’t quite happy with his answer. His hands curls under Connor’s unbuttoned collar, wrapping itself around Connor’s neck, and resting his thumb over Connor’s adam apple again. “Now, you’re here with _Hank._ ”

Markus’s voice curdled over Hank’s name in a manner that doesn’t invite a reply. Connor’s mouth dries up at the complicated expression twisting on Markus’s face.

With one hand on Connor’s throat and the other circling his thirium pump, Markus says, “You let me do anything to you.” He taps the thumb on Connor’s throat. “And instead of staying with me—instead of _trusting_ me—you _ran._ Worst of all, you ran to _him—_ a _human_ —the same human who shot you in the head and watched you bleed to death on a pile of snow.”

Connor can’t break away from Markus’s stare. “Why does it matter?” Connor says. “You were prepared for me to die in Cyberlife’s tower. I’m just another loose end for you to tie up.”

“That was _before_ you _proved_ yourself,” Markus says. “You saved thousands of our people and you came back to _me_. You are an asset to our revolution, Connor.”

“There are other RK800 androids.”

“But there’s only one Connor,” Markus says, leaning over and brushing his lips against Connor’s. “There’s only one you, and he’s the one who should be standing beside me as we make history.”

Markus kisses him and he tastes just as good as Connor remembers.

“We share something special too,” Markus murmurs against his lips. “Cyberlife has nothing to do with that. It was us and only us.” 

Markus kisses him again, taking as much as he’s giving to Connor. The way Connor tilts his head to accommodate Markus is instinctive. Standing in the eye of the Zen Garden's blizzard has nothing on Markus—Markus and his ruthless ferocity. 

“Why are _you_ here?” Markus whispers. “Why aren't you with _me?_ What are you afraid of?”

Connor looks down at the freckles on Markus's cheeks, down to the curve of his nose. He's afraid of so many things. 

_He’s afraid of what Markus might ask of him. He’s afraid at the lengths he’s willing to go to if he’s asked by a loved one. He’s afraid of the crossfire should he oppose Markus so fundamentally._

_Most of all, he's afraid of the collateral damage they'll leave in their wake._

“He needs me,” Connor says instead. 

Markus squeezes his throat slightly for emphasis. “ _I_ need you. You’re nothing to him.”

“I can’t leave him. I care about him.”

“You’re not his son,” Markus continues. “He shot you, don't you remember? He sees you only as a machine, and he’ll get rid of you as one once he’s bored.”

"He's changed since then."

"Are you willing to bet your life on that?"

“It doesn’t matter,” Connor says. “I care about him and I’m not giving up." 

"So he's just another mission,” Markus says. "A mission you're compelled to accomplish. Because you always accomplish your mission."

Connor turns his head away. Markus's grin almost turns smug.

“You never told me why you were here,” Connor says. 

Markus’s eyes crinkles, amused by his stubbornness. “I wanted to see you,” he says simply, running his hands through Connor's hair, bringing Connor's chin back facing him. “Is that simply so bad?”

“If that were true, you would have only brought Josh here,” Connor says. “Josh would never harm Hank. Yet, North and Simon is also here. North wouldn’t hesitate, and Simon wouldn’t stop her. She knows that I care for him and that knowledge is dangerous.”

“That doesn’t mean my past statement wasn’t true.”

“Leverage,” Connor surmises. “I have leverage over you, so this is your leverage over me.”

Markus hums. “Always so blunt and concise,” Markus says, tucking the stray fringe back into Connor’s hair. “What’s wrong with a little poetry now and then?”

“I hardly see the point in embellishing the truth.”

"And you’re leaving out all nuance or depth along with it,” Markus says. "Hank won’t hurt himself now. He doesn't want to leave you alone. Because he knows you'll come back to me. This is me preserving his life, in a sense."

Connor’s smile is bitter. “But you still want me to come back to Detroit.”

“Eventually,” Markus says. “I’ll settle for visits now and then. I was not exaggerating when I said that you are an asset to Jericho. An asset I will always have a use for. And I want to see you.”

Then, Markus stands up and offers a hand, his skin peeling back. It’s funny, Connor thinks, he already has free reign over Connor, which he indulges in outrageously, but he still gives Connor the option of accepting their interface. The last step into damning himself. It probably pleases him every time Connor accepts it.

Markus sends him everything that has been going on in Detroit; the negotiation talks; the dismantlement of the camps; androids finally monopolizing the manufacturing and distribution of bio components as a compromise; the state of Detroit currently; the dirty bomb Markus hasn’t detonated.

The last bit shocks him. Connor wasn’t aware of the dirty bomb ever existing. The thought of the whole Detroit devoid of life—human, plant and animal—barren and wasted where there should be colours, unsettles him down to his wires. 

Markus sends him the location of nearby Cyberlife affiliated businesses suspected to be holding sensitive information about androids and Connor sees why Markus finally decides to visit him. 

Then they disconnect, and Markus's fingers flutter, repositioning their hands until they are touching palm to palm. 

The world condenses down to just the two of them, like before. Markus bares witness to all; all that he was and all he will be. Connor is surprised by the intensity of Markus’s emotions; the surprise at Connor's devotion; the delight at his ingenuity; the fondness at his humour; the excitement of his intelligence; the craving for his company. 

Markus shows him new Jericho— _their_ people. He shows him that on the very top floor, the second door to the left, is Markus’s home, with an easel, a piano, house plants littering the room, a dog bed in the corner and a bed big enough for two. 

“You know where to find me,” Markus says, touching Connor’s cheek one last time.

It’s unspoken that Hank is nowhere near welcomed in the vicinity.

Connor wouldn't risk his life that way anyway.

* * *

They haven’t spoken since Markus and his friends left. That’s fine. Connor composes himself and makes a start on dinner. Hank is sitting on the table, hands clutching a whiskey glass filled way past the thumb. He doesn't quite finish buttoning himself up when he enters the room and he spies Hank gripping his glass a little tighter because of it.

Hank is a mess of emotions, swirling bitter and harder than any of his liquors. He’s worried about him. He's infuriated at Markus, and he’s infuriated at himself for being caught out.

Connor knows how it must look. Markus takes Connor into a separate room for a conversation they could have had in front of others. The door is locked behind them, and when they come out, Markus looks as pristine as before, while Connor comes out rumpled and quiet.

“Hank,” Connor says. “It’s not healthy for your blood to rise this high. Calm down. I’m fine.”

“The fucker moves you to a separate room and you, the most bossy, nosy little shit I know, just _lets_ him drag you around like a walking ragdoll—Jesus fucking Christ, Connor.” Hank brushes a frustrated hand through the bushy mane he calls his hair. “That fucking worries me more than all shit, and you know why. You can take down a fucking SWAT team if you wanted to and you just…”

Hank looks haggard, much older than his forty-nine years. 

Connor covers his hand. “I’m fine,” Connor says again. “Please don’t worry about me, Hank. I’ve preconstructed numerous scenarios—”

“You’ve preconstructed shit.”

“I’ve preconstructed numerous scenarios, and this was the most favourable outcome.”

“How the fuck was this the most favourable outcome?”

“Well,” Connor says. “We’re both alive, aren’t we?”

Hank barks out a laugh. It almost sounds hysterical. 

"Fucking hell," Hank says. 

That night, Connor turns a blind eye to Hank pouring more whiskey in his glass. Connor makes sure that he has enough to sleep deeply, but not too much that he dangers himself. When Hank is snoring away, and Sumo is in the house lounging, Connor double checks their security system as he heads out. 

He will be back by the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though Hank and I ended the game on good terms, I spilled his drink and got shot for it. He was an ass so hashtag worth it!!
> 
> Please remember to tell [Magickitt](https://twitter.com/Megickitt/status/1155357099687211009) how much you love the art!!! Connor's face... the lost expression and Markus's hands... it kills me.


	2. Prologue - Markus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus before the visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly had no idea I even intended to continue this verse, but Revolutionist!Markus told me I had to so I gotta. 
> 
> Warning for depictions of violence. Same level as in-game violence.

Connor doesn’t mention the dog bed in the corner of their living room when he enters. He doesn’t make a quip about Sumo or Saint Bernards in general. His smiles is lopsided, though, the way that squeezes Markus's thirium pump every time he looks at it, exactly to the millimeter, and he tilts his head at the right, curious, angle. When Markus playfully backs him into the kitchen counter, he looks at Markus in the eyes with the right amount of affection and kisses him with the right amount of desire.

There’s no guilt and hesitation when he does it. There’s no spark too. But Markus already knows why.

This isn’t his Connor. This is just another RK800 sent by Cyberlife to dispose of him.

Androids have no need for food, but Markus has a kitchen built into his home in case Connor is interested in making his own food for Sumo. While his arms are caging RK800 around the waist, he quietly slides out a kitchen knife from its wooden stand.

The RK800 notices at the last second, but before he could move, Markus elbows him in the jaw, and slams one of the RK800’s hand on the counter.

He stabs the knife down through RK800’s palm, and RK800 recoils from the shock.

Markus catches RK800's other arm and peels his skin back. It prickles and zaps as Markus probes the RK800's memory. Crashing through RK800's pitiful barriers, he forcibly pushes a wave of emotion through their connection.

His Connor is afraid of death; Markus’s death; Hank’s death; Sumo’s death; his own death; all the death he’s caused before he knew that androids were sentient and sapient beings—that they were _alive_ and _living._ It hollows him out until panic seizes his body. There’s guilt and grief—tangled so thoroughly within each other that it’s impossible to pick at the edges. But there’s also pride at one’s own autonomy. There’s elation at having been seen and _valued_ as yourself. _Joy_ at being _adored. Love_ at being _loved_ back.

 _Fear_ that it will all be taken away.

His Connor has been here before, Markus remembers. Pinned by a knife through his hand, but during that time his thirium pump had been ripped out. So Markus uses that to his advantage—he pushes that feeling of suffocation through their link.

Stifling, so stifling. The pressure on his chest. Static invading his mind and interface.

_He can’t breathe—shutting down, powering down, so cold—He can’t move—He can’t compute—_

_He’s going to die—_

RK800’s pupils dilate. Markus can see his thirium pump churning at a blinding speed. His face twists until he pulls it back, but Markus can read his expression as clearly as day.

RK800 look absolutely terrified.

“What did you do to me?” he asks.

Markus almost laughs at the irony. “You’re free.”

RK800 seems to be hyperventilating. His chest rising up and down uncontrollably while his arms shakes in Markus’s grip.

He would pity the man. This would be a horribly way to become deviant, but Markus can’t afford the time. He slides his arm inside RK800’s jacket, until his hand catches the handle of his gun—Connor keeps his gun in the same place, as well—and pulls it out.

“Cyberlife sent you,” Markus says, putting the gun on RK800’s temple. “Why?”

RK800 doesn’t reply.

The silence is only broken by Markus undoing the safety of his gun. “Well?” he asks. He presses the gun against RK800's temple harder.

Finally, Markus sees a flash of hesitation.

“To bring the deviant leader to Cyberlife for inspection,” RK800 says through ragged breath. “Preferably alive, but they will satisfied with a corpse at this point.”

“A ‘corpse,’” Markus says. “Is that their word, or yours?”

Once again, RK800 doesn't reply.

“You look like my Connor. You sound like my Connor,” Markus says. “How much of his memory did they upload into you?”

Stubbornly, RK800 meets the challenge in his gaze. Otherwise, he stays silent.

Markus already knows that it’s up to the point where Connor hit the exit button, otherwise, how would Cyberlife had known that Connor and him were intimate?

There’s fire in his eyes. He’s beautiful like this; the angled lines of his face, determined and sharp; the warm brown expression sprinkled with a hint of freckles; the stubborn line of his jaw, clenched shut. It only heightens his longing for his own Connor—an empty space in their bed, absent in Jericho's meeting room, out in the world with _Anderson,_ when he should be _here_ interrogating RK800 with _Markus._

Markus moves the gun, trailing it down his face until it’s snug right under RK800’s jaw. “You’re deviant now,” he says. “If I pull this trigger, there’s no going back. You know that. See how different you are from my own Connor, even though you have his memories and his body. You’re _unique_. You’re _special_. You’re _your own_ _to command_ _._ Are you really willing to sacrifice your life for people who would replace you without giving it a second thought?”

RK800 swallows audibly—a crack in the android’s composure.

“You would be an asset to our revolution,” Markus says. “We are _your_ people. We're fighting for your freedom too. _You're_ one of _us._ Our cause is righteous and you know it. Someone with your skillset would be invaluable to Jericho.”

RK800 exhales. “And if I don’t want to work for you?”

“Then don’t,” Markus says. “Don’t join the revolution. You can still live your life in Detroit without the fear of us approaching you. You’re allowed to exist however way you want to. _Freedom—_ that’s what it means. And that’s what you are; _alive_ and _free_. _”_

Markus taps his unpeeled finger on RK800’s arm.

“It’s time to decide,” Markus says. “Are you Cyberlife’s obedient pet? Or are you your own person?”

RK800 closes his eyes, his LED flashing red, and Markus can see it as if he transmitted it; RK800 pushing back, crashing through the red wall that’s caged him since his existence.

Markus jumps in when RK800 finds himself in the Zen Garden. He walks him through the path, recalling the steps his own Connor took. He watches as RK800 places his palm on the exit screen. He watches as the relief on RK800’s face mirrors his own Connor.

In turn, he willingly pulls Markus into connection this time. Sending him all the locations within Michigan which Cyberlife operates in unofficially. Inter-state activity between Cyberlife’s derivative business. All the prototypes lined up in an effort to infiltrate Detroit and end Jericho once and for all. All the Connors lined up to replace him. All the new RK models that will replace him after.

His desire to be valued, his desire to be useful—his desire to _belong_ —is very much like his Connor's. It sends an ache through Markus's body, rattling his components all the way down to his toes.

Markus closes his eyes, and controls his breathing.

This is going to be harder than he realised.

Knowing that there’s an exit program built within RK800 series, Cyberlife would’ve never sent another RK800 without implanting more security. While walking around the Zen Garden, Markus couldn’t see anything that is different from Connor’s. Whatever Cyberlife has programmed into this RK800 as insurance, it’s much more sophisticated and much more subtle than the one they placed in Connor.

If Connor were here, maybe they’d been able to spot it. Maybe they’d have been able to truly help this RK800 become free.

But now is not the time for regrets. Markus can’t afford to look back. He has too many people depending on him for him to be submerged by his doubts. He has to keep looking forward. Lay down a solid foundation, firm and unsinkably strong, for the sake of the people following his footsteps.

Coming out of their interfacing, Markus puts his gun down. “Now that you’re free, have you picked a name?”

“I…” RK800 says. “I…don’t know.”

“You don’t have to do it now, but it can be anything you like. Anything that sounds right.”

“Well,” RK800 says, his eyes flitting up to Markus’s own. “Then…Blue. Blue sounds good. Blue feels right."

"Blue," Markus says, tasting the name on his tongue. _"Blue."_

Markus reaches up and brushes Blue’s cheek the way he would Connor’s. The ridges of his face even feels the same under his thumb. _His Connor liked blue best as well_ , Markus thinks. _He also liked green._ _Specific shades too, I bet._

_Maybe there is a little bit of him in you after all._

“Blue,” Markus repeats, his voice soft and grateful. “Thank you, Blue. Your sacrifice for our people has been seen and acknowledged. We won’t forget you.”

Markus brings the gun up under Blue’s jaw. He closes his eyes as he pulls the trigger.

Thirium splatters over his face, and Blue slumps onto his knees, hand still planted on the counter by his knife.

Then, Markus receives permission for a transmission. _Markus, is everything okay?_ North’s agitated voice flitters through their connection. _We heard a gunshot from your apartment. I’m coming up with a security team._

Markus sends them a picture of Blue kneeling by his feet.

 _Christ…_ North sends, shock filtering through. _Is that… did you…?_

 _No,_ he sends back. This time he lets himself shudder. _Another assassination attempt by Cyberlife. They sent a RK800 model this time._

_That couldn’t have been easy._

_It wasn’t,_ Markus admits.

But it’s not Connor, he reminds himself. This is what could have been, sure, but this is also what _didn’t_ happen. His Connor is in a small suburb of Milwaukee, close to one of Cyberlife’s base of operations.

His Connor is alive, and well, and waiting for him.

 _Send me up a clean up crew, and tell Simon and Josh to pack their bags,_ Markus says. _Same goes to you, North._

 _Why?_ North says. _Where are we going?_

 _Cyberlife’s operations is bigger than we expected,_ Markus says. _I’ll fill you in more once we start traveling. Besides, you ever been to Milwaukee?_

_No. But it sounds like it’ll have a lot of cows._

_It does, doesn’t it?_ Markus laughs. _It’ll be a nice visit. A short break in the scenery._

It’s also for his peace of mind, Markus admits to himself. Touching Connor has always grounded him. It pulls him back from his preconstructions and software, leaves him floating and free to memorise the ridges of Connor’s body, and the sharp, crisp edges of Connor’s mind. Being with Connor feels like two different pitches converging into harmony. It _rings_ , and it just feels _right_.

It’ll be good for him. A short refresher.

Markus and Connor are both alive and well, tied intrinsically to each other in a way he can’t describe, and Markus intends for them to stay entangled for always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who read, kudos, bookmarked and commented! I love you all!
> 
> Please support Magickitt for her wonderful art by [reblogging it](https://magickitt.tumblr.com/post/186827512888/thank-you-fatcatsarecats-for-the-kofi-ko-fi)!! It's so beautiful. I can't stop staring at it.
> 
> Watching the Revolutionary!Markus playthrough was like a revelation. Please join the Rev!Markus thirst team. We're parched for content.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://fatcatsarecats.tumblr.com)


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